


Neverland (the adventure is not as it seems)

by craple



Series: Nothing to Console Me, but My Jolly Pirate Bold [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fractured Fairy Tale, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jones rubs his wrist as he watches the children go. His pulse beats harder, the skin burns under the ministration. He doesn’t look away until the last echo of Peter’s laughter is drained out of his system.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neverland (the adventure is not as it seems)

**Author's Note:**

> In the pretense that Baelfire is Neverland's Peter Pan, meets Captain Hook, for your pleasure. Should I be wrong and they decide to cast a new actor to become Peter Pan, I'll still probably write another Hook/Pan anyway.

Neverland is a land full of promises.

The sky is as clear as it gets, the sea sparkles brilliantly under the sunlight, the land damp and green and so full of life. It stretches round just like the world before him, many places fresh to reap and harbors to rest and women to fuck. What makes it different is the lack of aging – so much magic one can taste it in the air, on the tip of one’s tongue.

Jones is as happy as one can be after arriving in such place, which is very. He forgets about Milah like he forgets any other women; even forgets how sweet-sour the taste of every man’s first love, wine, is like when magic surrounds him. Fills him, the promise of youth so painfully delicious down his throat he forgets. Everything, and it’s silly, child-like but he’s happy.

Smee is attending the dock when the ship stops. Others are busy preparing meals, knotting the ropes, cleaning the cellar empty. Arousal and intoxication, of wine and sex, Neverland’s finest women lining across the land where they plan to stop by, and it’s amazing how the tides turn. Losing a hand is nothing compared to perfection such as this.

Until it isn’t.

Behind him the anchor drops, loud and abrupt into the water, the ship shakes with it. Fairy dust is everywhere, then. Ropes are pulled, the flag tears, pillars tremble, and it’s like facing his first sea-monsters all over again. Jones doesn’t think fairy dust can blur someone’s sight (it can’t), yet he sees nothing, misty-fog and black dots, a bunch of sparkling moths. But then he listens.

Giggles and chuckles, hysterical scream of his crew and drools. Small feet kicking his forehead, missing his nose by an inch, lack sense of accuracy.

Children.

 

 

 “Ahoy mateys to Captain Killian Jones and his _‘honorable’_ lot of crew,” announces the kid sitting cross-legged on the railing. “I mean, I don’t even know what that means, but the previous Captain said ‘ahoy mateys’ a bunch of times before the mermaids sent them to heaven didn’t he boys?”

Another series of giggles. Innocent, childish giggles that he can’t mistake other than children’s everywhere. Jones’ jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut. Shame coils in his gut, fresh like the blood around his stump. The hook which covered the said stump – a courtesy of dearest Rumplestiltskin – is in the hands of the kid. More shame and something akin to anger attack him full-force.

The kid tilts his head at him, lips curve into a playful grin, eyes dancing with mirth. “What is it, dear Captain? You look a bit lost, a bit angry. Would you like us to release you? Or would you rather have us play the helpless children and fled to save your pride?” says the kid, mocking.

It reminds him of how young this kid is, reminds him of the Crocodile’s grin when it crushes Milah’s heart using his bare hand. Jones suddenly hates this kid, whoever he is. The one who has wild locks of unkempt brown hair, same color of eyes only darker, so darker they are almost black – the one with the wide innocent grin yet so full of mischief. Promises. Like Neverland is.

Instead of a full snarky retort he intends to spit out, child or not, Jones intensifies his glare, meets the kid’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch, nor does he blink. The kid holds his gaze, steady as he goes, the corner of his lips quirks into a half-smirk. Apparently he is amused at Jones’ response, not at all insulted.

“Hm. I quite like this one, don’t you agree, Bell? Very adamant, stubborn, and oh-so mature,” the kid drawls, muses to himself rather than asking more like, although the other children look up at him, listen. “Should we leave them be, Bell? The food supply is not due until next month at least. I think we can handle that long.”

None of the children answers him. Jones wonders if the kid has lost it, talking to himself, or probably Jones himself is losing it, and that there is only one boy there instead of twelve, thirteen. He doesn’t bother counting; all he knows is there’s many.

Then a small, cheerful giggle, high-pitched like bells and so close to his ear catches his attention. A ball of golden light flies past him, landing quickly on the boy’s shoulder. It creates annoying girlish giggling sound once more before Jones realizes it’s a she, and a fairy. _Great_ , Jones thinks, _just my luck_.

“Oh Peter,” quips the ball of light. “This one is attractive. Very, very attractive, so much the mermaids might help _him_ other than _us_!” at the mention of mermaids, Jones’ ears perk, along with so many others. He quiets to listen, but the boy seems to have noticed.

Peter leaps off the railing gracefully. More graceful than the elve of a court he had, once upon a time. Jones is very much not distracted at the inhuman display.

He leans down, closer to Jones’ face than any human ever had, then stares. He stares when Jones reaches for the smoke bomb hidden under the leather of his boots, he stares at Jones’ face when someone, probably Smee tries to get his hand on a sword and flails, he stares when their noses touch and Jones’ breathing pattern is comparable to that of a galloping horse.

Recognition flickers across the kid’s face, briefly, in his eyes. Something like anger, hatred burns in those eyes of his, changing the color a few shades impossibly darker. Jones hesitates, a familiar tingle in his chest, as the memory of Rumplestiltskin invades his mind once again. He looks away.

The boy – Peter – leans back on his heels, staring at Jones’ face all the while. He plays with the silver hook on his palm, testing the weight, rubbing his fingers along the length absentmindedly. Then he raises it to his face, just an inch closer to his left eye than necessary. Somewhere behind him, one of his crew mates inhales sharply.

Boy or not, Jones realizes with a sharp intake of breath of his own, this is Neverland, a place where no one ages, and this kid might be older than Jones is, and he might –

“Whatever happened to your hand, Captain Jones?” murmurs the kid, softly, neck craned as he stares unabashedly at the stump on his back. The hook trails lower down his cheekbone, to his jaw. Peter is moving, leaning over him, to take a good look at his stump he presumes, so Jones hides the smoke bomb beneath his knee.

If the boy Peter sees something, he doesn’t say. Feather-light touches around his left wrist, thumb rubbing curiously against the smooth round metal covering his stump tells him everything.

“Interesting,” once again the kid murmurs in that low-tone of his, curious. “You know, I’ve heard of pirates cutting off their own foot and hand to gain hook like this and that wood-thing for their foot, but I’ve never seen it in reality.” He lifts his head to look at him, dark brown eyes mocking his pale emerald ones. “Did you really cut off your own hand, Captain Jones, or did someone cut it off for you along with your dignity?”

At that, Jones can’t stop the snarl escaping his mouth, raw and furious. His forehead bumps against the kid’s briefly, lightly. It’s enough to spread the grin wider, like it is the sort of response the boy has been expecting from the start.

Standing up, the boy walks a few paces in front of him, the hook tapping repeatedly on his chin. Jones tries not to imagine how sweet it will look if the sharp end manages to pierce through the skin.

“We’ve had a Captain Jones once, six captains ago. Brute little fella, not as good looking as you are, like Bell said, certainly not as interesting. We fed him to the crocodile, he was quite rude. So we should give you another name…”

Jones scoffs, looks away. The tip of the hook slides easily into the kid’s chapped dry lips. It doesn’t look as disgusting as it should. “And you deem it necessary to change my name just because you’ve met another one not as pleasant?”

To his surprise, the boy nods his response without hesitation. “Of course,” he says, makes a face of disbelief. “Though I do not doubt you are nastier than you look, if the torture chamber down below is any indication.”

Flashes of handcuffs, whips, plus some other things he procured life times ago nudge his brain. Bubbles of laughter threaten to escape from his chest as he gives the boy a grin, wide and feral, amused and almost furious. “Clearly, your knowledge of the world of a man is as little as the size of your little fairy godmother up there. Haven’t been around much? Least I’m not going to die with my virtue intact.”

Peter flushes a lovely shade of red, more so than even the ripest of apples. Jones raises his chin, smug, and thinks – _it’s time_. He snatches the cap off the smoke bomb deftly then lets it roll down the cabin, wisps of thick grey smoke filling the air as it does. Dozens or more bombs are being activated – he can hear the rustling of caps falling off, the metal round balls moving around – before Peter manages to escape.

Jones slips his hand through the ropes, feels it burn bright red across his skin. His wrists are sore, but it’s worth the surprised, and slightly disappointed look Peter throws at him. With one last look, the boy stomps his foot on the cabin, then shoots up into the air like a cannon.

“We’ll meet again, Captain Jones,” Peter says, raising his silver hook up above his head. “You’ll want this back, I’m sure. I’ve got a couple of names for you in stock but since you look rather fond of this, _thing_ ,” he smirks, shoves the hook deep under his robes. Jones snarls at him without meaning to. “Perhaps we should settle on Captain _Hook_ after all.”

Battle cries of his crew and the sound of cannons being loaded are Peter’s cue to leave. He turns his back on Jones and gives him a cheeky lopsided grin. “Ahoy mateys, Captain Hook!” Jones throws his sword at him, only to watch it caught between Peter’s slender hands. He wiggles his brows down at Jones, before shooting forward into the distance.

Jones rubs his wrist as he watches the children go. His pulse beats harder, the skin burns under the ministration. He doesn’t look away until the last echo of Peter’s laughter is drained out of his system.

 

 

The next time he sees Peter he’s lost in a place people on the other island called The Cave where mermaids often show up.

The Cave itself is a dark place, damp with rough edges-stone, slightly salty-smelled mixed with strong-fragrance roses that aren’t quite fitting. It’s a weird place to be, not only because Jones has only been here once, and that was _months_ ago; passing by without any intend of stopping due to the awful rumors of these sinuous creatures he’s heard of billions of time.

Jones has never been fond of rumors, never ever tries to believe in it.

Rumors are words, passing from one to another, altered the original story a little bit until it’s a pile of bullshit. While there’s truth in it, mostly it’s just people seeking attention, so he never tries to believe a single one.

Except the one about Rumplestiltskin, he doesn’t –

A sharp splashing sound from the water gets his undivided attention. Immediately, Jones thinks, too quick he’s become a little paranoid throughout the years. But this is a matter of life and death, and although he’s thought of it once, of – yes, dying after too many rounds of sex – the idea isn’t as tempting as it is before, now.

Jones reaches for his sword when the noise gets closer, louder. His eyes search the cave quickly, in an attempt to find something that can conceal him from sight. He’s no coward, everyone knows that, yet it’s more preferable, also favorable, if he knows what he’s facing against before he takes his sword out. Maybe the mermaids are harmless, enough to let him go.

He doesn’t even try to delude himself of having the upper hand here. Otherworldly creatures are not in his ‘being friendly with’ list, especially after what happened to his hand. So Jones finds a slight spot, tall and slick but wide enough for his body to fit, and slinks into it as the noises multiply.

Mermaids kill, Antonia said (or was it Anna? Astonia? Annabelle?), just like sharks hunt or witches curse and princesses cured after a true love kiss. Around him then, somewhere, someone had added quietly, just like the Dark One sealed a contract and ruined you thereafter.

There’s nothing cowardice about this. He’s not trying to prove himself by staggering into a mermaids’ cave after a particularly heavy blow from the navy back in the port. He wasn’t trying back then as well.

In the end, one reason or another, he will always come back here: the island where he had been robbed by a bunch of children led by a boy named Peter.

Same boy whose footsteps can be heard, loud in the stillness of the cave – whose boots’ soles make this slightly scratchy noise when he steps a tad bit harder on the ground, and Jones doesn’t justify the reason he knows all of this, he needs to be prepared for another assault, everyone knows – the quick hitching sound of his laughter echoes sweetly in his ears, child-like.

His chest tightens at the shameful memories, reminder of his loss of food supply, against _this_. Children. The insides of his stomach roar furiously every time.

Peter stops in front of the mouth of the cave. Jones knows this because he can hear the soft humming tune he makes, but not the scratchy soles in a puddle of water he also happens to know right there, seeing as he had stepped on them a few minutes ago.

Then, something akin to nostalgia hits him. He barely hears the soft tunes playing in the background, high-pitch voice and silky-smooth, slurring enticing lyrics filling his head with warmth and gold. It is even so much better than the sirens’ song up close.

 _‘My heart is pierced by Cupid; I disdain all glittering gold,’_ slurs the mermaids, around five of them at least, he’s not sure with all the echoes messing his head up. Then there’s a choir of sorts, literally echoing the first lyrics over and over again, until the cave goes quiet. Jones waits, ragged-breath.

As if he has been expecting it, waiting for it, the boy Peter sings along, “ _My heart is pierced by Cupid… I disdain all glittering gold._ ”

More mermaids follow his voice, repeating it in their silk beautiful voice. It’s weird how their voices sound so beautiful, yet so cold and fake, while Peter’s is – real.

Jones knows the continuation of the lyric. After all, he’s been living off pirates and sailors’ songs his entire life, this is no different. Peter seems content on repeating the same line for the whole five minutes, so do the mermaids.

Not that he minds exactly, he just wishes their business is done sooner; get it over with, so he can escape from this place. The mermaids’ song is not as bad as that of a siren, especially with Peter leading the choir, but the magic waves around the cave is stronger than it was, heavier, the smell of the roses thicker. Jones realizes with a start that he can barely breathe.

What seems like forever ends when Peter sings, finally, the last line; “ _There is nothing that can console me, but my Jolly Sailor Bold._ ”

This time, the cave actually glows.

Pink, light purple colors radiating from the apparently crystallized walls, dark blue and radiant. Jones can’t believe he hasn’t been found out yet. He sticks like a sore thumb inside the cave, hidden from plain sight or not. His mind keeps telling him something is terribly wrong here. Inhuman. Dark magic.

The boy Peter interrupts his train of thoughts by cheerfully telling the mermaids he has gifts.

“Charlie found it in one of those abandoned vessels in the Shipwreck Cove. They are brilliants, you will like it, you _must_!” he sounds giddy, overly excited and happy. Jones searches his brain for information about a place called Shipwreck Cove. He doesn’t remember the locals telling him about such a place.

One of the mermaids, a _male_ mermaid he realizes, asks _‘Whose ship was it?’_ in a tone so alluring Jones thinks he might have been singing. Peter drops down, throwing the weight of his body hard against the muddy ground, humming.

“I can’t remember? I mean, there were so many. Billy wasn’t even paying attention to where he was walking until they got there.”

Approving fond sounds of sort can be heard even from his spot deep in the cave. Laces being untied, cloth falling over several hard rocks, except they sound smoother than rocks –

Of course, Jones thinks, containing his groan of envy. When he spoke of brilliant _s_ , he wasn’t talking about something equally fantastic or wonderful or expensive. Peter did truly talk about brilliants – as in the most literal sense of word brilliants.

Jones stops himself before he can crane his neck to look.

Whistles of appraisal and lovers’ sighs make him want to roll his eyes. Very hypocritical of the boy to mouth at him when he is nothing the innocent boy he claimed to be. The boy Peter takes whatever he wants because he knows he can take them without resistance. He is nothing better than Jones is.

The mental image of Peter taking whatever he wants is strange, extremely uncomfortable in the back of Jones’ mind. He shakes them off to listen at whatever Peter is proposing to the mermaids.

“… previous Jones is, he’s more clever I think. A better version of Jones, but also crueler, every bit of the worst pirates category you have always told me, Mireey.”

At least he knows they’re talking about him. Jones remembers the day when they first met, Peter telling him about another Captain before him who had the same name, Peter calling him ‘Hook’ because he doesn’t want to be reminded of a fat ugly Captain that couldn’t stop eating even during his deathbed. The fierceness in the boy’s eyes, the determination in there makes his skin crawling in something akin to want.

Mermaid-male hums softly, almost curious, then asks in a sly tentative voice, _‘Does he look attractive to you Bae?’_ and Peter laughs, can’t help it. Something clicks inside Jones’ head, recognition, familiarity, but he can’t place it.

“He does, I think? Bell and the other children thought so, even Charlie, who _still_ can’t keep his hands off me,” quips Peter adorably.

Jones did _not_ just think of that.

 _‘Ah, poor little Charlie,_ ’ purrs a mermaid closest to Jones. _‘After all these years, one shall think he is in love with you still, Peter dear.’_ She sounds amused, cruel almost, it makes his skin prickle. Jones can imagine the wrinkled skin on Peter’s forehead as he frowns, maybe, since he doesn’t reply for a while.

“I don’t think he is. Anyway; presents! Do enjoy them while you still can, I will bring another when I get the time,” says Peter rising to his feet. Sounds of protests from the mermaids are clear enough, loud enough the water surface shakes with it.

  _‘But you just got here!’_ whines the same mermaid who taunted the boy Charlie, whoever he is.

 _‘You have not told us about the charming Captain either,’_ reminds the male mermaid in a faraway tone.

At that, the boy Peter pauses on his step. “I don’t think I would have liked him killed, Vareesh.”

 _‘Then are you fine with us playing with him?’_ snickers erupt from the rest of the mermaids, causing the water to ripple. _‘You do know how we cannot resist temptation and boredom both, oh no we shan’t.’_

Goosebumps seem to explode all over his skin. Jones never thinks the day would come where his lungs literally stop working at what the mermaid implies he’s sure even his blood is frozen in his veins.

“Maybe you shouldn’t kill him though,” says Peter after a while. “I mean, he _was_ really rude the other day, aiming a sword at me so perfectly-angled I might have died if I weren’t flying, but he kept coming back, and we did manage to steal some food from his ship.”

 _What?_ The Captain thinks, stumbling out of his hiding place head-first toward the water in surprise. Peter and all the mermaids jerk back in surprise, and Jones sees the most horrible thing he has ever seen in life: the face that of an angry mermaid.

His ankle sprains when he tries to regain his balance. Jones loses his footing a moment, then the bone on his knee cracks a bit as he spins around and hits another curved blunt-edge rock. By the time he stays on his feet (wobbly, light-headed and hurting), they all look at him as if he’s part of a circus.

Jones shuts his mouth shut before he can say, I’m not the one with scales and tail fish and unnaturally gorgeous eyes. Or the part where their bodies all glowing along with the cave. Also, he is certainly sure there were sharp pointy fangs between those plump red lips, eerily similar, all five pairs, just a moment ago.

Peter’s face is blank, cold, a perfect mask of indifference. He doesn’t think he’s as young as Jones thinks he is anymore. Jones’ survival instinct forces him to react before his brain can even process what’s going on.

After he gets back onboard, Jones will claim that he remembers nothing of Mermaids’ Cave but a lot of the forest. There are green trees and a solid foundation of an abandoned cabin. He will say that the cabin belongs to the boy Peter, which he’d apparently fought with, thus the sprained ankle.

He will not say anything of the mermaids’ soul-piercing screech or how his hook scrapes the pale porcelain skin of the male mermaid. There will be no tales of how Peter lands a kick square on his stomach, or how Jones slams him against the stone-cold wall and snarls like an animal, all the while with the boy aiming punches to his body.

His crew will not know of how he barely manages to escape a possible death by grabbing the nearest object he can find – a Captain’s hat, a pirate captain to be precise – to block a supernatural attack from the mermaid.

But he _will_ tell them of how he stole the boy Peter’s hat from the supposed cabin, how his angry face is attached to Jones’ memory forever, and that maybe the title ‘Captain Hook’ is not so bad after all. The next time Peter tries to steal food, they will all be prepared, and his crew will see the scar of an ‘X’ marring Peter’s collarbone and knows that it’s from Jones. That part is true, at least.

Jones – Hook now – cannot simply stand still whilst his brain comes up with thousand of reasons to get his revenge on the Crocodile. For a while, he will try to get even with the boy Peter, and see which way works best, because if he can’t stop Peter, getting even with him, then how is he supposed to kill Rumplestiltskin?

He keeps the hat safely tucked in his cabin and wears it with pride when Peter comes.

All in all, his adventure in Neverland is not as boring as he assumed it would be.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Remind Me of Your Mother](https://archiveofourown.org/works/790594) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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